


Amour Interdit

by madibear2014



Category: Original Work, The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century, Character Death, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, France (Country), French Revolution, Paris (City), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madibear2014/pseuds/madibear2014
Summary: Marie-Jeanne Bastarache was not the average sixteen-year-old girl in the 18th century. She was poor but not as poor as some. She worked for the household of Archambault, along with her father. The Archambaults were Aristocrats exceedingly high in status. The Mrs. of the household had passed away four years earlier, and Marie had always admired her greatly. Mrs. Archambault, unlike most Aristos, helped feed the especially poor and helped provide blankets and anything else she could for them. Mrs. Archambault raised her only son, Luis, who was now the age of twenty, to be charitable and kind like her. Luis continued her work and also taught some of the young children some new games.





	Amour Interdit

Marie-Jeanne Bastarache was not the average sixteen-year-old girl in the 18th century1. Marie was poor but not as poor as some. Marie worked for the household of Archambault, along with her father. The Archambaults were Aristocrats exceedingly high in status. The Mrs of the household had passed away four years earlier, and Marie had always admired the late Mrs. Archambault greatly. Mrs. Archambault, unlike most aristos, helped feed the especially poor and helped provide blankets and anything else she could for them. Mrs. Archambault raised her only son, Louis, who was now the age of twenty, to be charitable and kind like her. Louis continued his mother’s work and, in addition to that, taught some of the young children some new games.   
Marie, herself, was a sweet, but shy girl, who was both generous and kind to everyone who had the pleasure of meeting her. She had a head of thick and curly auburn hair, freckles that were scattered across her face like stars in the night sky, and a thin and petite frame. Marie also had her mother’s eyes, which were a brilliant turquoise. Sadly, Marie’s mother died during puerperium; Marie was only three weeks at this time. From then on, Marie has only lived with her father.   
Marie smiled to herself as she got ready for another day of work at the house of Archambault. No matter how dull or routine at the house got, Marie always looked forward to working. Marie’s face was practically glowing as she tied her red curls into a twisted bun at the top of her head. Giddily, Marie ran into the kitchen of the small and, at the time, extremely dark house. After setting out a few things for her father to eat for breakfast when he woke, Marie started for the House of Archambault. The streets of Paris were always dark as Marie left for work because she was the one to set all the fires before the family woke. Marie made her way hurriedly down the dark streets of Paris, all the dark alleyways making her extremely uneasy. Marie had traveled this way so many times before, but today felt different, almost edgy or restless. The air all around felt as if it were filled with a violent sort of tension. Marie quickened her pace.  
Upon seeing the house that she worked so ardently for, Marie felt incredible relief wash through her. She was almost there, maybe a total of 150 feet away from the servants’ entrance when she heard footsteps behind her. They slowed when she slowed and quickened when she did. Marie could hear them getting closer and closer, a shiver ran up her already chilled spine. She was about to let out the loudest scream she possibly could when a hand grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. The scream died in her throat as soon as she saw who it was.  
Jean, her best friend since childhood, who also worked for the house of Archambault, shot her an angry look as he said, “How many times have I told to wait for me to walk you before you head over to ‘the house’ before the sun has even risen. You know, the kind of people who are out this early in the morning, or some, if they had still not gone home and to bed, might call it late, aren’t the type you would want to get acquainted with. I went to your house expecting to find you there, only to hear from your father that you had left before he had even woken up!”   
Marie could almost giggle at how serious his usually goofy and grinning face looked. Even though he was doing his very best to look angry at you, she could see the relieved smile hiding just behind his eyes. Nevertheless, her attitude turned from fondness to determination after being reminded of the same argument they have been having every day for the last month.  
Marie looked him straight as she replied, saying, “You stay up later than I and would have to rise earlier than I do to walk me every day. I do not need you losing sleep when I am perfectly able to take care of myself.” Jean all but rolled his eyes at the same statement she always makes. Seeing as he was trying to think of a better response, Marie did not give him the chance, spun on her heel, and walked away. As she walked, Jean following right behind her, Marie remembered a joke, or at least she thought it was a joke, her father had made the day before. He had insinuated that Jean and herself would make a good marriage. She had let out a breathy laugh at the very thought, for she knew for a fact that Jean did not think of her like that, and she did not him. Marie knew that if her father had said that to Jean, he would have had the same reaction, at least that was what she thought.   
When they reached the door, Jean held open the door for her, as any true gentleman would. As soon as they entered the door, they rushed to their separate jobs. Marie lit the fire in the master bedroom first, where Mr. Archambault noisily slept. Next, she made her way to the young Mr. Archambault’s room. She made her way straight to the fireplace and busied herself with her work trying to ignore the fact that she was in the same room as the same person she believed to be the love of her life. As she was leaving she looked over towards him and almost giggled at how messy his hair looked, when normally it was nicely combed. She always called him Louis, which was his first name, in her mind, even though that would be completely wrong of her to say it out loud. The only reason was that she liked the way it sounded. Louis started to shift, probably waking up, and Marie realized how long she had in fact been staring at him. She subconsciously let out a little squeak at the idea of being caught and quickly hurried out of the room.   
Louis was a very kind sort of man. Unlike so many of the aristos, he treated every servant and even child with respect and nothing but kindness. Marie had been caught her first day as a maid taking too long with the fire in his room, and instead of yelling at her when he woke up, he got out of bed showed how to do the fire, introduced himself, and started a polite conversation. He had also brought a basket of fresh eclairs and macaroons when her father had been ill. Once or twice a week, Louis went down to the orphanage and taught the poor penniless children new games and brings them treats. Few people knew this about him, but she had seen him at the orphanage one day when she was on her way home, running around and playing with the children. After he had left, she asked one of the women who took care of the children, and she told Marie the whole story. That was a year ago.  
Marie was going through her usual day when she heard some of the other maids gossiping. She couldn’t tell who they were by their voices, but she listened all the same. It was their tones that drew her in; they were terrified.   
“It happened last night,” one said, “the whole prison was stormed.2”  
“I heard,” said another, “People are saying that it is the beginning of something terrible.”  
“I heard that those men who stormed Bastille were trying to start a war and that they succeeded,” The third said.   
It was quiet after that. It was a known fact never to believe gossip, for it was often wrong. Nonetheless, Marie could not help the feeling of dread that settled over her. She now knew what felt like it had been coming earlier that day. Marie knew that all the commoners needed better pay, fewer taxes, and to be treated better in general, but she also knew that the road to get that would be a bloody one.2, 4  
She ran to the market and stocked up on as much food as she could afford from that week’s wages. Marie made sure to buy things that would last. She needed to make sure they would have enough food. The next day, Marie was completely out of it, the insane violence hadn’t started yet, but she knew it was coming.   
She was walking home when Jean caught up to her. He seemed nervous and fidgety. She had never seen him like this before. He asked if he could ask her a question, an important one. She nodded hesitantly.  
“I love you, Marie. I have loved you as long as I can remember,” her heart stopped, “ and I was wondering if you would put me out of my misery and consent to be my wife?”   
Marie stared at him with bewilderment. He had loved her as long as he could remember. She kept repeating that in her head trying to get her brain to accept the fact that her best friend was now proposing to her. And loved her. She loved him too, but not in that way. She had been so oblivious. How could she not have noticed?  
“Your father has given his consent,” He continued, “and I hoped you would give yours.”  
She looked down at the hand that had grasped hers so gently and wondered how she could reject its owner in a way that would not ruin their friendship forever.   
“Jean, I am so sorry, but I cannot accept your proposal,” she looked only at the ground, not wanting to see the way he looked at her as she rejected him, “I love you, you know that I love you. Just not in that way, never in that way.”  
She felt his hand drop from hers as he took a step back. She looked up to search his face for how he was feeling, that was her mistake. It was blank. There was nothing there. Why couldn’t he have been screaming at her? Telling her what a horrible person she was? She should have loved him, it only made sense. She knew, though, that Jean would never yell at her. Not unless she was doing something unsafe. She would have rather him yelled. Instead, he quietly walked her home and left without another word.   
After the first execution of a person in their town, which was in 1793,5 in the center of town, Marie’s father was broiling with anger. She tried to calm him as much as she could, but she knew he was not the type of man who would sit around and do nothing while innocents were being murdered.   
Later that day, she and her father saw a little girl, obviously a noble from the way she dressed, being dragged down the street by a man toward the center of town, toward where the guillotine had been set up. The girl didn’t even fight. Marie knew the girl. She belonged to the Chapdelaine family. Marie had thought they had all been killed, but this little girl had gotten away. She looked over to see that her father had made the same connection.   
“That little girl is being killed over my dead body!” Marie’s father got up and was out the door before she could even process what had happened.  
She shot up from her chair to run to the door. Once she was out, something pushed her back in and shut the door. Marie got up again and pushed against it, but it wouldn’t budge. She ran to the window to see what was going on and who had locked her in. When she peeked out the window, the girl was gone and the man who had been dragging her seemed to have something hurt because he was on the ground and Marie’s father was standing over him. She then noticed Jean, who must have been the one to lock her in. She had not seen Jean since he proposed, and he looked awful. She looked to the side again to see that something had fallen through the door when Jean had locked her in. It was a letter with her name on it, but she decided she would deal with that later.   
Marie tried the door again as she saw more men running up. They had guns. The largest one out of the bunch leveled his gun at Marie’s father’s back. Just as he was about to shoot, Jean shoved his gun aside forcing the bullet to hit the ground instead of her father. Marie pulled the door harder, tears making their way down her cheeks. There were too many. They were going to die. She watched helplessly as the man shoved Jean to the ground, leveled the gun at his skull, and fired as another man took the shot at her father. Marie heard something screaming as she watched her father fell to the ground, only to realize that she had been the one screaming.   
She pulled on the door and screamed louder, feeling tears race each other down her cheeks. She needed to get out. She couldn’t even tell if they were breathing. She couldn’t even tell if her father was alive. Her father who would not sit and watch as people were killed. Her father, who had given his own life for a stranger’s. Even after their bodies had been dragged away, she punched and clawed at the door, thinking if she could only get through it, she could go back.   
After a while, she slumped to the floor and sobbed. Marie had never thought it possible to run out of tears cry, but she had. She looked down at her hands to see that both her knuckles and nails were bleeding, but she didn’t care.   
She woke to the sound of silence. The type of silence only an empty house could bring. Marie had never known that type of silence before. Her eyes drifted to see broken glass scattered all over the ground. Marie thought back but could remember breaking anything glass. That's when something was wrong. She wasn’t alone, because the glass wasn’t from the front window or anything from that side of the house, which was where she when it had happened. It was from the back window. As she got up she saw that the blood from her hands had gotten on her dress and dried, but that was the least of her concerns.   
Marie heard a sniffle, not normally the sound an attacker would make. When she made it around the corner, she saw the culprit. With tears on her cheeks and red puffy eyes, the girl her father had died for lying on the ground. Marie bent down slowly, so as not to scare the girl.   
“Hello. What’s your name?” Marie asked gently. She only knew her last name and not her first, so this seemed like a good time to break the ice and get the girl’s mind off of certain other things.  
“Annabella,” she spoke so softly, Marie almost missed it.   
Marie gave a soft smile as she replied, “That's a pretty name. Mine is Marie-Jeanne, but you may call me Marie.”  
Marie swept away the glass and cleaned the cuts Annabella had gotten from the glass. Once she had finished, she noticed the same letter with her name on it that had slipped through the door. She had decided that she would not let Annabella see her cry, she needed to be strong for her, but just the sight of Jean’s handwriting on the paper, almost made her break down right then and there. She opened it.  
Dear Marie,   
The reason you are receiving this is that I have reason to believe that I would not be here much longer. I was able to help some children of nobles by hiding them in the hidden room in the back of my home. If I am not able to care for them, I know I can trust you to do so. If I am now gone, just know that I love you and if there is an afterlife, I will love you then.  
Forever yours, Jean  
It felt like he had died all over again. She couldn’t help but remember the last thing she said to him. She had shattered his heart. Now all she wanted was to see him smile one more time. Once the first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. Marie’s entire body shook from the power of each heartbroken sob. She cried for her father, Jean, Louis, and hundreds of others. Soon, Annabella was right there next to her, and the two girls sat there and cried together, letting all the sadness they had been holding in finally out.  
And that is when she heard a knock. Not on the front door, but on the back. The first thing she did was hide Annabella because she knew that if she was found they would both be killed and Jean’s and her father’s deaths would have been in vain. Then, she answered the door, and did her very best to look put together. She froze when she saw who it was. She had thought he was dead. She had seen him get dragged away. And yet, here he was, standing in the threshold of her backdoor, alive and well… or well-ish.   
There in the threshold stood Louis Archambault. Both he and his father had been dragged to the guillotine and to their deaths on the day it all began, or so she thought. He must have escaped, or this was some cruel trick her mind was playing on her. He stumbled forward, almost falling, but he caught himself on the doorframe last minute.  
Marie gasped and reached out to help him, “You look ill, what happened. And why did you come here?”  
Louis cracked a small smile as he looked down at her, “I’m fine, just had a bumpy day. I came here, because I thought if anyone would help me and not turn me in, it would be you and your father,” adding in an awkward chuckle, but his tone turned serious as he said, “but now I realize I might be putting you in danger. I will leave at once if you wish it so.”  
“No! I mean, of course you may stay. You are always welcome here,” Marie said as she moved to the side to let Louis in and called in   
Annabella, knowing Louis would be the last person in France to turn her in. Marie heard a feminine shriek, terrified that Annabella was hurt, or if someone had found them out. She whipped around, only to see that the expression on Annabella’s face was in fact, joyful.  
“Louis!” Annabella shrieked as she leapt into his arms, the latter chuckling as he caught her, “I knew you weren’t dead! Was it the Scarlet Pimpernel? I bet it was! I heard he is amazing… and english!”  
“The Scarlet Pimpernel?” Marie asked as her smile, which had started upon seeing Louis alive and had grown at seeing the cousins reunited, vanished.  
“Yes! Mother spoke of him,” Annabella’s face darkened, “before. Apparently, he has been rescuing aristos sentenced to death and taking them to England, where it’s safe for them.”   
A spark of hope ignited in Marie’s heart, soon to turn into a blazing fire. She looked to Louis to see the same hope shining from behind his eyes, which were such an intense blue. She turned away to hide her blush. There was hope. Annabella, Louis, and all those children could be safe.   
Months passed and Louis and Marie worked together to provide for the children. After growing some facial hair, Louis was almost unrecognizable, making it so he could leave to find food and work. As the long days went by, the affection between Marie and Louis grew. She would look at him to find him already looking at her with a slight smile on his face. Annabella, who adapted faster to the situation than the other children, soon began to tease Marie relentlessly. Louis slept in the shack behind the house, being only proper. And soon, Louis proposed… And Marie accepted.  
Marie and Louis were wed by an old friend of Louis’ father, who they trusted to keep the secret. The years grew, as their love for eachother did as well. It was not perfect, but at least they were alive and together. They still held fast to that thin line of hope that one day the Scarlet Pimpernel would rescue them from the tyranny and bloodshed of the revolution.


End file.
